


i'll dance on your grave

by sadie18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: American South, Angst, Catholic Character, Catholic Guilt, Catholicism, Chaptered, Closeted Character, Devils, Heaven & Hell, Heaven vs Hell, Homophobia, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religion, Religious Guilt, Slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-10-21 19:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20698400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadie18/pseuds/sadie18
Summary: his mama told him the devil was charming, and no catholic son of her's would ever fall for his tricks-alternatively, oliver takes a job at the local graveyard- and he maybe falls for a trick, maybe falls in love





	i'll dance on your grave

**Author's Note:**

> warning!  
please note that this story incorporates religious themes, and there is some homophobia (internalised, and slurs), as well as religious guilt and internal angst. i tried not to make it too heavy, but please don't read it if it's not for you. thank you!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oliver knows how his summer will go.
> 
> he'd play some basketball, he'd work at his new job at the graveyard, he'd hook up behind closed doors where nobody would ever be able to see him, and he'd unwillingly go to church. he'd drink his mother's lemonade and have dinner with the weasley's and make fun of percy. 
> 
> he's wrong, to say the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is chapter one!! i really hope i don't get bored of this project because i'm kind of attached to it now but i suck at long projects :///// this started as a vent piece but now i'm rolling with it
> 
> if you have any enquiries or just want to talk, oliivverwood is my tumblr <3

The night was so quiet, save for an occasional rustle of the bushes or the hoot of an owl, that Oliver flinched, nervous, when his phone vibrated. 

The air was warm, too sticky, even with Oliver's loose clothing and red basketball shorts that were his size when he was, like, _eight, _and his curls were pasted unflatteringly to the back of his neck. 

Most kids at the tender age of seventeen, Oliver's age, would be spending a mid-June Saturday night at some shitty party one town over, or trying their fake IDs at the only bar in their town. 

Instead, Oliver was in the graveyard on the outskirts of the town, pepper spray in one pocket, and a small knife and his vibrating phone in the other. He ignored it, instead curling his fingers around the small knife his mother had given him. 

* * *

"_Now you know that graveyard's been strange since I was a little girl, honey. All sorts of the Devil's business." His mom said to him, her drawl dragging out her words, slow and rich. "I want you to be careful." _

_"Mama." Oliver rolled his eyes, sipping the sweet tea from his crystal glass, wincing. His mother always forgot that he didn't like it as sour as she did. But it was cold, tangy and refreshing, and it was hotter than hell outside. He didn't complain. "I'll be making a fortune. Don't worry." _

_"I know, I know." She said anxiously, filling his glass up again. "You're a big boy and all that. I just- I just don't like how they're getting a seventeen year old boy for this job." _

_"It's not a _real _security job." He reassured her, smacking his lips. "Just to make sure none of the other town boys get too rowdy. I don't even have a uniform or a gun or nothing. I just sit there for a few hours."_

_"Your friend Angie Johnson's nana's grave got smashed to bits the other week. Molly Weasley told me all about it at the salon." She wagged a finger at him. "And you're not as strong as a gravestone, honey. Quit your yappin' and take the knife. No buts."_

* * *

The graveyard was notorious in the region. Oliver remembers his sophomore year, when the basketball team had away games, the bus always had to drive past, and everyone except for Charlie Weasley would hold their breath as they rolled by. Charlie twisted his ankle in the first minute of finals, successfully scaring the boys into the bad luck of the hallowed ground. 

Oliver wouldn't say he was a particularly worried boy, not in the way some residents of the town were perpetually anxious, but he always walked by a bit faster, keeping his eyes firmly glued to the sidewalk, ignoring the temptation of looking past the gravestones, into the eerie forest that lay untouched by the people of the town. 

And now. 

_Now_. 

He was _here. _

The fence looked ominously tall, the sharp spikes on top of long, thin poles were rusty, chipped and old. There was a poster, one with a picture of an irritable looking cat and the words '_MISSING' _in bold red letters, and the smaller name, "_Crookshanks"_. The fog was settling, thickening the air and embracing every crevice of the yard. The gravestones themselves were well-kept, especially the area reserved for the wealthier families around town. Oliver spotted a clean cut, polished stone, the names of Lily and James Potter engraved fashionably onto it, where a wreath of white lilies lay wilting. He winced, at the image of his teammate Harry coming here alone, laying down the flowers, grieving the parents he couldn't even remember. 

* * *

_"Lily and James, gosh, they were a lovely couple." Molly said, her hearty voice ringing out over the chaos of her noisy house. Oliver was there, working on a project with Percy, but ended up gossiping about the newest addition to the basketball team. "They said it was a car crash that killed them, crashed right by the graveyard, but it couldn't have been."_

_"Oh, please, ma." Percy rolled his eyes, playing with his dinner idly. "They got hit by a car. It happens all the time. Nothing to fuss over."_

_"Percival, you will _not _speak that way of the passed." Molly snapped back fiercely, shaking her head, her tight red curls bouncing furiously with every movement. "God wouldn't have planned such a horrible thing for such wonderful people. No, this didn't feel right, it was such a shock. You know, Sirius Black knew it too. Said it was something wicked, and nobody believed the poor man."_

_"Isn't Sirius Black in the- you know- asylum? For- you know, murdering someone?" _ _Ron mumbled. He visibly recoiled at the look Molly shot him, cringing as her glare got more and more heated. _

_"You kids are too relaxed." She grumbled, scooping more potatoes onto Oliver's plate. "I'll pray a little extra for your sakes, because y'all ain't gonna do it yourselves."_

* * *

Oliver weaved his way through the tombstones slowly, brushing his fingers along the the structures, melting into the cool surfaces. It still felt too warm out, even though the sun had set hours ago and the sky was littered with spatters of stars, and there was even a _breeze_. Even so, the back of Oliver's loose tank top was soaked, pasted to his back uncomfortably.

There was an odd feeling of peace, that Oliver felt, looking up at the sky, entranced by the intricate patterns the stars created, but whenever he looked back down, back at his surroundings, the fog laying low atop the tips of the dark trees, the unrest came back, and he gripped the knife in his pocket tighter.

There was nothing sadder than seeing the bare graves, no flowers or letters or offerings of any sort, just sitting their collecting dust, the memory of whoever was buried ebbing away slowly until they were nothing more than a body in the ground. He walked, idly wondering about every departed soul that lay in the peat, taking his time inspecting each plot of dirt.

Behind him, suddenly, the trees rustled. He whipped around, his joints creaking, and watched with a faint sense of horror as the bushes moved, vibrating and shaking until Oliver fumbled to pull his knife out of his pocket, trying to stop the twitch of his hands as the rustling got faster and louder and-

A cat. 

Thank _God. _

It was a _cat_. 

More specifically, it was the cat that was pictured on the poster Oliver had seen on the fence, and he almost laughed out loud in relief. Oliver moved towards it, slowly, and maybe he could pick it up and bring it back to whoever was missing it. It's yellow eyes were wide, alarmingly so, brown fur matted with an ominous dark liquid that Oliver could only hope was mud. It stood completely still, not a hair moving, even with the slight breeze that blew through the yard. Oliver took another step forwards.

Just as quick as it appeared, it hissed and dashed off. Oliver craned his neck, scanning the graveyard, but to no avail. The cat was gone. 

He sighed as he checked his watch. There was still and hour and a half left on his shift, and so he settled, going back to creeping around silently. 

After he'd left, a few hours later, when the moon was long gone and the stars glittered high in the sky, the night almost silent except for the occasional hoot of an owl or a rustle in the bush. Oliver didn't hear the feral howl that resonated throughout the graveyard. 

* * *

Oliver didn't like church all too much. The collared shirts his mother forced him into were itchy and the ties she knotted were too tight. It was still stiflingly hot out, the sun coming back each day to beat down on the people of the town, and Oliver was sweating through his slacks. The preacher looked about _minutes _from his deathbed, and the actual sermons were drowned out by the rasp of his voice. All the adults came and mingled and made stilted small talk, and it pained Oliver to watch his mother force a conversation with Narcissa Malfoy when the latter had been bad-mouthing her muffin recipe at aerobics the week before. The kids were stuck to their parents' sides, getting cheeks uncomfortably pinched and the same comments of, "_oh, ain't he handsome? What a beautiful girl you have there." _A constant cycle, every Sunday, continuously getting more and more infuriating and desperate.

What Oliver hated the most though, was how going to church made him _feel_. 

Because the book of the church had declared for centuries, still declared, and would continue to declare, that Oliver Wood was a sinner, a traitor, and was on an uneven, tricky road to Hell.

* * *

_"This don't mean anything." Oliver breathed into Adrian Pucey's mouth, creeping his fingers up the hem of his damp shirt. The locker rooms were empty except the two of the, silent except for the ragged panting and the low mumbles. "You know it don't mean anything." _

_"Shut it, Wood." Adrian dug his fingers into Oliver's hips so hard that he knew it'd bruise the next day, catching Oliver's bottom lip on his teeth and biting down, hard. _

_Oliver did shut up. He stayed quiet, for the rest of their arranged meeting._

_When they were finished, and Adrian was on his way out, leaving Oliver to do his weekly self-berating, dealing with the shame he felt every time he even_ looked _at a boy funnily_,_ he stopped at the door. _

_"You can say it as many times as you want." He said, his eyes somewhat sad. Somewhat pitying. "But that don't make it true, Wood. If God's really up there, and he's all the man everyone says he is, he'll take care of you either way."_

_And with that, he left Oliver in the cold locker room, alone and miserable. _

* * *

Confession was the most painful part of the ordeal. 

The stool was hard, uncomfortable, and talking to what felt like a wall only lulled Oliver into a false sense of security. There was a man behind that wall, a strict one, one that wouldn't _understand _what Oliver felt. The guilt churned through his stomach, pulsing angrily with every confession he included that wasn't the thing that ate him up from the inside, that twisted his gut and made his heart race too fast. 

"I cussed out a guy at my school when he cut in front of me the other day." _I thought he was attractive. _

"I forgot to pray on Tuesday, I got so caught up in work and training." _I prayed so much. Too much. I prayed for God to change me._

"I snapped at my classmate the other day, I was a bit irritated." _He called Adrian Pucey a terrible, terrible slur, and when he said it to him, I felt it too. _

"I lied to someone this morning." _I'm lying to you now. Not a single word out of my mouth has a lick of truth. _

And when it was all over, and he stepped out of the confession box and walked over to his doting mother and father, he felt like a cheat. The shame ate at him, gnawing at his conscience, a constant discomfort that crept out when he saw his parents smiling at him, so proudly. 

The drive home was a loud one, ever rambunctious as it was on Sundays, as Oliver's parents shared the gossip they'd overheard from the other families. His mother did her lipstick in the drop down mirror, impeccable even when his dad cursed as the car hit a pothole. 

"Didn't you hear?" She smacked her lips loudly, pursing them as she inspected her handiwork in the smudged mirror. "The Grangers found their cat dead this morning, bless it's little heart. Crookshanks, I think was it's name- silly, isn't it? Their girl was so torn up over it, the poor thing. Been dead for a few days, apparently."

Oliver furrowed his brow confusedly. "Dead? For a few days?"

"As a doornail, hon. Maggots and everything." 

"Where?"

She snapped the mirror back up, turning around to glance at him. "Just outside the graveyard. I've told you, all sorts of spooky things happening there, for years and years." 

Oliver shook his head, more so to himself, blanching. "I saw Crookshanks last night. Late last night. When I was working. I tried to grab him but he dashed off. And he's dead... now?" 

Oliver's mother frowned, her eyes crinkling. "Now that's not possible, doll. The cat was all rotted and beginning to smell, from what Jean told me. Must've seen another cat."

There was something morbidly unsettling about the whole ordeal- the memory of Crookshanks, with the dark stains on his fur, dashing out of sight, not a glimpse of the animal for the rest of the night, the rustling of the bushes that had Oliver's hackles raised and his heart pounding as a visceral sense of fear overcame him. Oliver was sure that cat was Crookshanks- but apparently it _couldn't _be.

Crookshanks had been dead for _days. _

* * *

Oliver strictly avoided the graveyard, dreading his next shift, even though he had to pass it on the way to the Weasley's. On the outskirts of the yard, on the edge of the forest, a new grave popped up, a cross made from crudely chopped wood and poor nailing with the scratchy name, "_Crookshanks," _on it. 

Oliver kept his eyes down, pasted to the sidewalk. Solely focused on the yellow dandelions popping up in the cracks. 

He hated how scared he felt, of something that he could see clearly, could experience clearly, something tangible- after all, what was there to be afraid of except the unknown? He feared only God, the God who was currently looking down upon him. 

It was a cruel experience, to be put on the Earth and only go down from there. 

* * *

His next shift was on Thursday, and it was so hot out that the rubbery scent of burning tarmac filled the air. Even then, Oliver felt cold, a chill running up his spine with every sluggish step he took towards the graveyard. The poster of Crookshanks had been torn from the fence, it's absence feeling like a weight on Oliver's shoulders.

It felt laughable, how terrified he was- he could just quit the job, be happy with the seventy dollars he made in his first shift- but Oliver wanted some independence. He wanted to have the money to be safe. 

* * *

_"Did y'all hear about the Spinnets?" Oliver's mother asked at the dinner table, spooning salad onto Oliver's plate. "They've kicked their daughter out." _

_"Alicia?" Oliver's fork paused in the air, halfway between his plate and his mouth. "Why?" _

_"Caught her with a girl." She said shortly, shuddering a little, and Oliver wilted at her visceral reaction. "The girl ran away before they could see who it was, but God, she's _ _probably shaking in her boots now." _

_Oliver knew exactly who the girl was. Alicia Spinnet and him had been friends for years- and he was the only person that knew about her dalliance with Katie Bell. Oliver felt hopelessly miserable for Alicia, who'd been thrown to the curb for not being careful, because in this town if you weren't careful, you were cursed out. _

_"She's staying with the Johnsons, I heard." Oliver's father noted calmly in between bites of potato. _

_Oliver's father had always been a little quieter, a little more relaxed in comparison to his tempestuous mother. He'd never voiced any disdain for anybody in their town, _different_ or not- it made Oliver feel a little flare of hope. _

_"The Johnsons can take care of her for so long." His mother harrumphed. "They ain't got enough money to take care of another, especially with Angie going off to university soon." _

_"She's got a scholarship." Oliver offered. "Track and field." _

_His mother didn't say another word, only exhaled irritatedly again._

* * *

Oliver found himself inspecting the grave of his aunt. 

His father's sister, who died of unknown circumstances, had only been alive the same time as Oliver for two years. He was named for her- Olivia Wood became Oliver. He never knew her. His father never talked about her. 

Looking at his grave was the only memory he had of his aunt. 

The stone was smooth, well kept, and had a small Forget-Me-Not laid on it. Oliver wondered if perhaps his father had left it there, or if it had just been strewn across by the wind. 

The name "_O. __Wood" _was etched delicately, prettily, and Oliver was somewhat entranced by it- it was his name, and one day, he'd have a grave identical to it. 

That's when he noticed it. 

It. 

_That. _

Under the name was a cleanly carved pentagram. About the size of a nickel.

And Oliver's blood felt like it froze; he recoiled his hand from the gravestone- it felt red hot to the touch, all of a sudden.

Someone had obviously taken the time to draw it, because it seemed to be a perfect circle, the lines perfectly straight. Next to the pentagram was the initials "_M.F." _

* * *

Oliver had left his shift an hour after his new findings- he'd tried to stick it through, but every brisk wind that blew by, every movement of the trees, every chirp of the crickets, had Oliver so jittery he could collapse. 

His mind raced through all ideas, the reasons why someone would vandalise his family member's grave- not just any family member, but one he was tied to by name. So _wickedly, _as well, with the devil's mark. Strangest of all, their town was small. Oliver knew everyone, and couldn't think of a single person with the distinct initials of M.F. His heart pounded as his nerves grew more and more strewn, fear filling the gaps in his logic. Perhaps someone knew his secret, someone was sending him a message, someone was _threatening _him. 

* * *

_Oliver was twelve, awkward and gangly, his eyes a bit too wide on his skinny face and his teeth were still crooked, when he looked at Charlie Weasley and felt a twinge of _something _he couldn't name in his stomach. He found himself admiring Charlie, the sharp jut of his jaw, his countless freckles and his suave, charming grin. _

_Oliver was thirteen, who had taken to ducking his face when he saw Cedric Diggory so the other boy couldn't see him flush. He learned what that unknown feeling was, and buried it deep, deep, deep down. It was still whenever he heard Cedric's laugh, slow, easy and rich, that it reared it's ugly head and submitted Oliver to his own shame. _

_Oliver was fourteen when Alicia told him, quietly, tears brimming in her eyes, that she liked Katie, maybe loved her, and knew she'd never be able to have her. Oliver held her in his arms while she cried, and let her take him to her house and introduce him as her boyfriend. The proud grins, firm claps on the back, simpering voices made Oliver feel sick to his stomach. _

_Oliver was fifteen when Adrian Pucey walked onto the basketball court for tryouts and played with such skill and ferocity that Oliver couldn't help but be entranced. Oliver'd missed three easy shots and dropped a simple catch that tryout, but his name still made the roster. _

_Oliver was sixteen when Adrian Pucey kissed him for the first time in the empty parking lot outside of school, after they'd stayed late after a game. Oliver had never felt so weightless in his life. The next day, the high was gone, and he crashed to what felt like an all time low, and Oliver routinely buried it again. _

_Deep, deep, deep down. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments are much appreciated x


End file.
